Decay
by Scramm
Summary: There are many strange, dead things in old abandoned villages, even if Luka doesn't believe in them. Luka/Miku


In this heavily forested country the few inhabitants of the once-great mountain moved to lower, safer, lighter valleys, for the trees held many a secret and none wanted to venture too close to the mansion hidden in the forest, with its burbling fountain and its profusion of roses, so strong it was said one could smell it from miles away.

Once, in olden days, the mansion had been the home of an infamous lord, the villagers his vassals. So famous was his cruelty that stories painted him as that most feared of all creatures, a vampire. It was said that he picnicked on corpses and set starving, slavering hounds through the forest to bring down unwary travelers for his nightly cannibalistic feast. Thankfully, however, the lord was long, long dead, killed by a brave hero, stabbed through the heart with a stake in front of his silent servants, cruelty passed into legend.

And so. The mansion creaked and groaned with the weight of mystery and darkness, and the last heir of the once great lord's name sat alone at a heavy wooden table, endlessly telling her own fortune. She was dressed in a long, trailing black dress, her eyes dull as she looked at the spread of cards before her, all of whom foretold the same fate every hour of every day, no matter how she shuffled them.

First, the Devil, that old horned beast chained to a throne with one hand up, eternally glaring out from the card. Next, the Tower, a single bolt of lightning striking it as it began to crumble under the weight of its own age. And finally, what else could there be but Death, a skull in its eternal, fixed grin?

Day in and day out the girl foretold her own fortune under the demented gazes of her long-dead ancestors peering out from the grotesque paintings arranged around the dining hall, needlessly large considering how the mansion now only inhabited the girl and a silent, eternally loyal servant.

But please, do not think the girl is normal. Every once in a while, the old servant would open the door to the riotous, untidy garden, whose walls were practically part of the forest now, so crumbled were they, and the girl, with great reluctance, would hunt. She moved with great delicacy - she would rise slowly, pick the cards up with the tips of her fingers, and put them into their proper order, sliding them into the small wooden box that contained them, before leaving.

Once, when she was a child, her appetite was small. A smack of blood from a rabbit would sustain her. Nowadays, she was older and only human blood would fully satisfy her. But humans came by rarely, and the girl was too shy, too afraid, to travel down to the village to hunt, so she made do with wild animals and the blood-drained carcasses of beasts would litter the garden-forest until her silent keeper would dispose of them.

When humans came by - they were either brave, foolhardy young souls or tired shepherds and woodsmen - they would be shown the utmost hospitality by the silent keeper. Gently they would be led into the mansion's darkness (for, you see, the vampiric mistress could not stand light). The girl herself would have coffee in cracked china cups with them, and they would talk.

But there are always ulterior motives in people's lives, and the girl was, it must be said, uncommonly beautiful. Her light blue eyes, her long, glossy hair, her delicate features combine to make her endlessly beguiling despite (or perhaps because of) the childish innocence of her speech. It was a beauty so perfect it seemed almost monstrous. The girl, desolation in her eyes, would have to talk of the most innocent subjects to put her tongue-tied guests at ease. Eventually the coffee would be finished, the visitor beset with nerves, and the girl would rise from the table and beckon them, with the softest smile, into her bedroom. Scarcely believing their luck the villagers would follow the ruined countess into a room of black and scarlet, but the girl knew of only one kind of consummation and in the end all that would be left of the visitors would be a bloodless husk of what they once were.

Afterwards the girl would wash her face fastidiously, getting every last splotch of blood off her pale pearl-carved face. She would sit in her room, call for her cards, and deal her fate over and over again in this place, so ancient it was forgotten even by time.

x-x-x

The 21st century came with the roar of machinery and rapid globalization, but there remained a few small hamlets scattered around the globe that tried to stay as untouched by these technological advances as possible, due to tradition or for drawing in tourists or, possibly, both. It was a baking hot summer day when, panting, flustered, hurried, Luka Megurine biked into one of these singular locations, hopelessly lost. She had intended to make her way to Elphagort. Instead she found herself here and for the fifth time that day she cursed herself for making the boneheaded decision of not asking for directions an hour ago. Up ahead, a long way away, on a steep steep hill, was a hazy village and Luka decided to make her way there. After stopping for a bit to take a water break, Luka biked until it became too steep to. She walked the rest of the long way up.

A few more words about our heroine - being a modern girl of this century and a student of medicine, Luka held absolutely no stock in superstition. Everything could be explained simply and purely in scientific terms. In the city, vampires and werewolves didn't exist outside of horror stories and paranormal romances. The rules were, of course, different in small villages in the middle of nowhere, but Luka was protected in that impervious barrier of her own rationality and so when she entered the quaint village she did so without any fear of demons or monsters.

Immediately upon entering, however, her heart sank. She had hoped, expected, even, to find an inn, a bed-and-breakfast, hell, even some friendly villagers, anything other than a few caved in cottages and a cobblestone road that was more dirt and weeds than actual cobblestone. She looked around the village, hands on hips, and came to the conclusion that the villagers of this village were long, long gone.

If the view of the thickly forested country below wasn't so beautiful, if the position of the sun's setting wasn't so picturesque, if the air wasn't so peaceful, Luka might have felt uneasy. But it was, so Luka only felt mildly annoyed. Thankfully, the fountain that gushed in the middle of the town was still in operation, and Luka walked over there with her bike to wash her face and hands.

When Luka raised her head, she saw a curious old man dressed in antiquated clothing approach her. He bowed stiffly, and then, with elaborate hand movements, explained that there would be shelter a little ways up the hill. Despite the man's strangeness, curiosity demanded that Luka follow him. They walked a ways until a mansion emerged from the forest, but it was so old, so ill-maintained, it could hardly be called a mansion at all - some of its walls were crumbled, and when Luka entered past the wrought-iron gates the path up to the mansion proper was full of overgrown bushes and far too many roses, so many the smell was intoxicating. Luka had to cover her nose. Her bike rattled the way down the path, a comforting mechanical sound in this surreal place.

Once inside, the strange old man didn't seem to know what to do with Luka's bike until Luka, laughing a little at his naivete, placed it outside so that it leaned against the wall. Thus the man was satisfied and mimed an eating movement. He directed his guest to the dining room.

Now, if Luka had been from the village, she would have felt the weight of generations crush on her - the ancient lord's legend was too cruel, too heavy to ignore. But Luka was a child of the city and laughed at such country superstitions, so all she felt was curiosity and a vague sense of wonder. Such a tenacious host she had, living all by themselves in the middle of nowhere! In her mind, Luka already had an idea for what the host was like - probably old, probably set in their ways, eccentric but ultimately harmless. In this world of internet, television, and cellphones, horror and fear of vampires held no sway.

Upon entering the dining room, however, Luka found to her surprise that it was set for one, food already prepared - a shank of lamb, some vegetables, and black bread. It was clammy and cold in the room, but Luka was hungry after the long ride and polished off her food with gusto. Although it wasn't dark outside, the curtains were tightly drawn and the room dimly lit, lending the entire room an intimate, somewhat disquieting air considering how Luka was alone. Still, her mysterious host was so hospitable, Luka reprimanded herself for even thinking of complaining about the darkness and cold. It was clear that in this country, people were poor. This host was most likely giving Luka the best they had.

Once done, the manservant appeared again and mimed drinking, directing Luka to yet another room. Ah, thought Luka. Now she would finally meet her mysterious benefactor. Conscious of her admittedly grubby appearance, Luka brushed the crumbs off her shirt and followed. The mansion was older and in worse repair than she thought, though she didn't comment on the cobwebs, the crumbling plaster, the worm-eaten beams. From a far, far distance, Luka thought she heard singing.

They reached a door. The manservant knocked. A voice gave permission.

The door opened and there, standing next to an unlit fireplace, was a white dress a few centuries out of fashion. As Luka's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that wearing the dress was a girl, fragile and thin, and as her eyes adjusted more, she saw how beautiful she was, and how astonishingly young - younger than Luka, even. Her eyes were so wide and innocent, and she looked so surprised to see Luka, that Luka couldn't help but to feel a sting. Here was a young girl all alone, dressed up in an old dress, completely cut off from society.

"H-hello," said Luka, breaking the silence. The girl was shivering, Luka noticed, and felt another pang. She took a step forward. "My name is Luka. Thank you for the hospitality..." In this old world, Luka wasn't sure if the girl even spoke the same language as her.

The manservant lifted up a lamp, briefly, to illuminate Luka's face, and the girl gave out a cry, covered her eyes, and fell to the floor. She was holding cards, Luka noticed, and they scattered to the ground. Swiftly, Luka knelt down and picked them up. They were ancient, she noticed - ancient, decaying, and had such morbid images: a grinning skull, a burning tower, a horned sneering devil. Luka covered up the last with a happier picture of two lovers smiling at each other before handing it back to the girl's hands.

"Here," said Luka with a smile.

At Luka's touch, the girl seemed somewhat revived. She protectively drew the cards closer to herself before getting up to her feet. Her movements were liquid, heavy with the burden of nobility.

"Thank you," she said, and her voice was soft and high, with barely an accent. "I am sorry about...earlier. My eyes are sensitive to the light."

"Oh," said Luka. "That's alright, don't worry about it!" In this ancient home, her words sounded out of place, too modern to be used.

"Tea," said the girl, distractedly. "I will make you some tea."

At this point Luka was doubtful of the girl's ability to make any, considering how she collapsed a few scant moments earlier, but the girl ignored all of her protests and so Luka resigned herself to sitting on a chair and watching as the girl busied herself with preparing the tea and pouring them into cracked china cups.

"My name is Miku," said the girl, at last putting a name to herself. "I have lived here for many years. You must forgive me for any lapses, I get so few visitors. Sometimes I'm afraid that I'll forget how to speak."

"It doesn't seem like many people live around here," said Luka. "Is it just you and your butler?" She wanted to ask about the Miku's parents, but propriety stopped her from doing so. It was pointless, anyways, her parents were obviously dead. What else would explain her wearing such an ill-fitted dress, the dull resignation in her eyes?

"Yes," said Miku, placing a china cup with a minute crack running down its side in front of Luka. "Do you want sugar or-"

"Ah, no, it's fine," said Luka hastily, not wanting to burden her young host further. "Where do you get your, um, living supplies? You're so far out...do you have a farm?"

Miku smiled. "No. We do have a small garden. For the meat, well," Miku's eyes looked away, "we do some hunting in the forests."

"Ah, I see..." said Luka. "So you know how to handle a gun?"

Miku shifted in her seat. "A little."

Luka nodded and sipped her tea. It was very strong. Despite herself, she examined Miku further. The girl was incredibly pale - Luka attributed it to lack of exposure to natural sunlight, especially considering how dark everything was. When the servant had used the lamp to illuminate Luka's face, the girl had cried out, but it was only a little light. For her to be so sensitive to light...perhaps malnourished, perhaps a nervous illness. Luka further considered Miku's thinness and slightness, the dark bags under her eyes. Clearly, she was not getting enough rest - not a surprise if she regularly brewed coffee or tea as strong as this. When Miku was placing the cups down, she was shaking as well - weakness from hunger, perhaps? But Luka had been served a perfectly serviceable dinner. Was Miku anemic?

Either way, it was clear to Luka that she could not leave Miku here to her own devices. The girl looked like she was about to collapse any minute, and her surroundings were so incredibly desolate that Luka doubted she could hold out for much longer. This was the problem with living by oneself in the middle of nowhere with only an ancient butler to help, Luka thought. This Miku needed medical attention. Convincing her to go with Luka would be the hard part.

Luka put her cup down. "Miku, are there any...people living nearby?"

Miku shook her head. "No. They moved away a long time ago."

Luka frowned and leaned forward on the table. "I know this is presumptuous of me, but, uh..." Luka trailed off. There was really no good way of asking someone to leave their ancestral mansion and go traipsing off somewhere with a complete stranger. Still, Luka had to try. "You're clearly not in the best of health. I'm studying medicine, and...um..." Luka fumbled her words. Miku stared blankly at her. "I'm on my way to Elphagort, it shouldn't be too far from here, and I think you need medical attention that you can't get here, so would you please...come with me?"

Miku furrowed her eyebrows. She looked completely uncomprehending, as though Luka was speaking in another language. "No. I have to stay here."

"If you stay here," said Luka with increasing certainty, "it'll be dangerous in your current condition. You'd die."

Miku laughed. "I tried to die, when my parents did. I tried to die a few years later, when I became tired of this sham of a life. But, as you can see, I am as I am."

Luka stared, appalled. No wonder Miku looked so miserable. She was so young, too, for her thoughts to be focused so much around death. Luka looked around the room. Hideous, twisted portraits of what Luka assumed to be Miku's ancestors leered down at them. The gruesome cards Luka had found Miku with were lying on the table, face down. Bringing up a child in such a dark environment surely had not been good for her mind. Luka's worry turned into resolution.

"Come with me," said Luka, again. She got up. "I want to help you. Seriously, you...you can't stay here." Luka took out her cellphone. Predictably, there was no reception. Luka put it away and walked over towards Miku. "When was the last time you've eaten?"

"Three days ago," Miku said.

"Are you serious?" Luka stared at her. "You need to eat something!"

Miku was silent, though she looked almost...amused? But no, why would that be funny?

Luka sighed and tried again. "Please, Miku. There's more to life than this mansion, I promise." She looked around at the room once more. "A lot more. You can't stay here forever."

"I have to," said Miku. "It is my fate. I have told my fortune every day of every year. It is always the same."

That's just superstition, Luka wanted to say, but instead she looked over at the cards on the table. "Really? Tell it now."

Miku shrugged. "It will be the same. The Devil. The Tower. Death. But as you wish." She got the cards, methodically shuffled them. Her hands moved smoothly, the cards fluidly and thoroughly being shuffled. Then, the girl laid three cards out and, not even looking, turned them over one by one. Luka looked. The cards certainly didn't seem to resemble devils, towers, or death. Instead, there was The High Priestess, The Hermit, and The World. Not that Luka knew anything about the meaning of these cards, but they certainly sounded a lot more positive than The Devil, The Tower, and Death.

"Look," Luka gave Miku a gentle nudge of the shoulders. "It's different."

Miku blinked and then looked down. Her eyes went wide. The cards dropped from her hands, again. Luka knelt down to pick them up as Miku stared at the fate she dealt herself.

"How?" Miku murmured.

Luka thought about pointing out the probability of drawing the exact same hand every time, then thought about Miku perhaps shuffling so that she would always get the same result every time. It was certainly possible, once someone unconsciously believed something, to continuously perform according to their expectations of themselves. Instead, she shrugged and got up to her feet, handing the cards back to Miku. "See? Your life isn't hopeless."

Miku took the cards and numbly put them back in their box, her eyes blank. She glanced back at her keeper, as though asking for help, but he was silent. "I..." Miku looked down. Her hands were shaking.

"Come with me," Luka said.

Miku frowned. "No. I..." Miku exhaled and closed her eyes. Luka looked at her. Like this, Miku looked like a porcelain doll, beautiful and fragile. Luka swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Listen," Luka said, softly, "I don't know what keeps you here, but-"

"Exactly," said Miku, her voice more composed than it was a few moments earlier, "you don't understand." She opened her eyes and when she did, they were cooler, calmer. Miku got up from her seat, her every move slow and elegant. She looked almost antiquated, an actress from an old black and white movie Luka had seen once, acting in pantomime. There was something entrancing about it, though Luka knew that Miku's way of moving would look ridiculous on anyone else. Something about the girl enabled her to pull it off, or perhaps it was the weight of history in this mansion, the oppressive darkness and the gruesome cards, that made Miku seem perfectly natural. "I tire of this conversation." Miku smiled, a beautiful one that did not reach her eyes, and extended her hand, her fingers slim, nearly skeletal. "Let us go for a walk. I will show you around the mansion."

"Um..." Luka didn't see why not. "Okay." She put her hand on Miku's - it would have been a faux pas to not do so, Luka felt - and to her surprise Miku pulled her upright with so much strength Luka almost fell on her. Now that she was so close, Luka's nose caught the smell of earth and dirt, but from where, she could not say. Miku was close now, and studying Luka so intently Luka felt like one of those cells she would look at through a microscope. Still, there was something almost intoxicating about Miku's gaze, so much so that Luka felt drawn to it like a moth to light.

And Miku looked away and the spell was broken. Luka dumbly stood there, her mind punch-drunk. What just happened? What was that? Luka rubbed her forehead with her free hand. It felt like there were cobwebs in her mind. Miku began to lead her somewhere and Luka followed her as she tried to regain her foggy mind. The mansion really was dark, and now that Luka wasn't thinking as clearly as she was before, kind of...creepy. There were so many portraits on the wall, and all of Miku's ancestors seemed...off in a way. Luka couldn't quite put her finger on it. She stared at one of the portraits, a beautiful woman in the same white dress as Miku's, her smile slight and her eyes staring straight at Luka's. It was an optical illusion, Luka knew, paintings whose eyes followed the viewer's, and she tried to ignore that. The woman in the painting though, still, was uncommonly beautiful and uncommonly pale, much like Miku.

Must run in the family, Luka thought to herself, trying to keep her mind flippant, but there was something gnawing at her instincts all the same. Miku pushed open another grand door to reveal a drawing room, all of the furniture old - a heavy wooden table in the middle, an unlit fireplace, an empty gilded cage that might have held a bird once if it wasn't for its prodigious size. On top of the fireplace was another unsettling portrait, this time of a man. Luka avoided looking at it. Miku paused her walking in the room, though she did not sit down in one of the many chairs and couches - rather, she stood and glanced around, as if unsure of where to go. There was broken glass on the floor, Luka noted, and tried not to step on it.

"What's with the cage?" Luka asked.

Miku looked at it without much interest. "Oh...just a cage," she said. "My father had a pet once."

"A bird?"

"Yes," said Miku. "It's gone now." Her blue eyes dropped down to Luka's hand, which she was still holding. Luka suddenly felt self-conscious and tried to pull away, but Miku held fast. "You're so warm," she said, wonderingly. "It has been such a long time since I've last had any visitors...I had almost forgotten..."

Luka shifted. Something about Miku's tone of voice seemed hungry, and she was looking at Luka's hand in an almost longing matter. Heat rushed to Luka's cheeks and she glanced down. "I was biking a lot today," Luka said. "When people, um...exercise..." She couldn't think right now. Miku was looking at her and Luka could feel the circuits in her mind breaking. "Exercise makes people hotter. You should try it sometime. It's...cold here." Luka hadn't sounded so inarticulate in a while and after hearing herself she felt ashamed. Miku was still holding Luka's hand gingerly in her own and Luka felt more conscious of it than ever, of Miku's cold hands and of the fact that she could hear the blood pumping in her own heart, marking time in thumps.

"I see. Yes." Miku looked up at Luka, a slow smile spreading on her face. "Would you care to see my room?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Old story I dug up. Most likely going to be a two-shot!**


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